Penny Lane
by EccentrikPirate
Summary: Sequel to Billy Stinson. Recommended reading: A Penny for Your Thoughts & Horribleness. For every day there is a night. For every world there is an underworld. For every hero there is a villain. Appearances can be deceiving.
1. Here Lies Everything

Author's Starter Notes: Yes, it's finally here, the sequel to Billy Stinson: Penny Lane—also some recommended reading are my fics A Penny for Your Thoughts and Horribleness. Now before I properly begin this fic I would just like to thank everybody for their support of Billy Stinson, my story actually achieved two Horrible Awards (Bash in Minds Award & the Evil Laugh in Progress Award) on LiveJournal! Woohoo! Thanks guys!

Also, I would like to mention that Everything You Ever (Billy in HIMYM category) has been deleted because the kickin' new crossover feature allows me to post ones story in two categories now. Wooo!!

Finally, I now realize that I flubbed the HIMYM timeline in my first fic—which I set A) in/around late March, making it the end of winter but still cold B) in between the episodes "Milk" and "Come On" (I needed Butterfield to have already been introduced). I, a heh, never bothered to check the airdates of these episodes before. They were in May, BTW. That's a my bad. I will try and fix that as best as possible this time around.

I've been rambling for far too long so now, without further adieu, I present Penny Lane.

Enjoy!

* * *

Prologue: Here Lies Everything

Three Weeks, Four Days, One Hour Post Incident.

The only light guiding his path was the full moon hovering low in the otherwise blank sky—that and the thousand glittering lights of Manhattan across the river. The dark haired man shivered, though not from cold. The final bits of wintery chill had left the air some time ago and had been replaced by the warm breezes signaling summer's arrival. He was nervous. He'd never done this before, trespass on such a…peaceful place.

He gulped and continued forward with a paranoid eye looking ahead and soggy footprints trailing behind.

Cemeteries gave him the creeps.

He actually reached the proper headstone—in its tucked away corner—in less time than expected. Only a name, an alias, was carved into the gray mass marking the grave nobody else would ever want to visit.

_This is bad,_ he thought repeatedly. _This is bad, this is bad, this is bad. _

This wouldn't end well—if it wasn't ended already. He knew that from the start. He tried to tell the Doc, but the guy just wouldn't listen. They were his final days and he refused to reason.

At least he got see his former best friend again, in his final days.

The phone call meant to rekindle their alliance had been a shock.

_Restricted number. He shouldn't answer. It was probably just another telemarketer. For some unknown reason curiosity won over caution._

_"Hello?"_

_Shallow breathing replied. Great, another prank. _

_"Listen, dude, whoever you are—"_

_"Moist?" a meek voice asked._

_He nearly fell over. Needed the grab the nearest chair for support. _

_"Holy cow…Doc…is that you?"_

_Silence, and then a tentative, "Yes…"_

_"Oh my God, man," he was happy, "it's good to hear your voice, how've you been?"_

_"I need your help," the demand was given quick._

_A knot formed in Moist's stomach, "has the League lifted the ban?"_

_"This is beyond the League," the doctor urged, "you were the only one I could trust. I need to know if I still can."_

_Something was wrong, "Yeah, Doc, of course you can trust me. Is something wrong?" _

_There was no answer. Awkward breathing instead. Moist tried again, "Doc?.... What do you need?"_

_"Moist, I…" he could picture the man on the other line biting his lip as he thought of the correct words to say, "I'm going to kill myself."_

"This is _bad_, Doc," Moist muttered aloud before plunging his slippery shovel into the earth.


	2. Hey, I Know You

Sorry this took so long to update, I was having trouble deciding how I wanted to format the rest of this story. It may be a long wait for future updates as well but they are coming. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 1: Hey, I Know You

He watched the news every night. It was his custom—since he was sadly no longer a part of it. Sometimes he'd even comment to his television how he would have done things differently in his day. He'd offer up a few critiques to the newcomers of his former profession with slurred bitterness. What? Oh no, no, it's not like being forced into early retirement ever _angered _him. Heck no. He was just…

A bronze tinted froth spat out from the top of the can he punctured using only a thumb.

…a little grumpy.

He scratched at the half past six shadow clinging to the side of his cheek as he moseyed on back to his beat up recliner. He hadn't shaved in a week, or maybe more. He didn't keep track. Why bother? He didn't really go out anymore; no need to impress anybody.

The anchor on the TV proudly announced that the Heroes Guild had finally captured one of the country's most notorious villains in New York. He grumbled something generally unkind about the Guild and all its members, and he laughed at the newest-soon-to-be-inducted member blushing on camera as he described his triumphant discovery of the Evil League of Evil's eastern headquarters. Johnny Snow. That sounded familiar. He was probably one of those wannabes who had been trying to get in for years. Well, at least there was a spot open for this kid _now_.

The program had changed to something more pressing and urgent during his musings. As a reflex he inched closer to the edge of his ratty chair. It was a natural reaction at the mention of his rival's name.

Some footage from New York started to roll. Hostage situation, SWAT team breaking in, and Dr. Horrible…

The beer can crinkled and imploded under the force of the once hero's fingers. He coughed on the liquid that had unintentionally sprayed into his mouth. Did he just see…? Was he watching…? Did Dr. Horrible just…? Is he dead?

* * *

"Have _you_ ever tasted this slop?" the scruffy man asked, a cracked bowl in one hand and scratching his peppered beard with the other.

The woman to whom he spoke sighed, unimpressed. She twirled the giant ladle like a baton between her fingers. "Nope," she responded in her squeaky voice.

The man huffed and growled. His shaggy eyebrows furrowed as he shoved the bowl and its barely steaming contents under the woman's nose. She squirmed—instinctively leaning as far away from the dish as possible. Her nose crinkled in disgust. The woman mumbled a tiny 'ew' causing the man's frown to deepen. She failed to notice, but instead pushed the basin back with her ladle—afraid to touch the substance.

"How dare you try to serve us this!"

"Sir, I'd appreciate it if you just kept your voice down," was her automatic response. Violet eyes rolled and she blew a feathery strand of golden hair free from a net of eyelashes thick with mascara.

"I demand better food!" the man pounded a fist against the faded countertop separating the duo. He likewise allowed his bowl to drop. The crack expanded with a loud clank. Her _adorable _red polka dot apron was now splattered with unidentifiable soup substance, not to mention he had practically _spit_ on her. That was just gross.

He scratched his beard again, flakes of _something_ breaking free from the gray patch of fur. She shuddered. Enough was enough.

"Sir, you're homeless, you don't to be _picky_!" she snapped in a nasally tone, swinging her ladle haphazardly through the air. The man was stunned into silence, and for a brief moment a smug little grin of victory sprawled over her lips.

"_HOLLY!" _

"Aw crap…" she muttered at the sound of Frederick Reynolds's scolding voice.

Holly plopped her ladle down into the coagulating stew with a sigh. She knew what was coming even before the over worked man took hold of her arm and dragged her far, _far_, away from the bothered patron. They passed through the swinging double doors into the busy kitchen, the petite woman rolling her eyes in anticipation of the upcoming conversation.

"Honestly, Holly," Reynolds's moaned— rubbing the bridge of his nose—as their brief journey came to halt, "I can't have you insulting our guests _all _the time!" he always referred to the homeless as his "guests". Apparently humanitarians are too good to say bums or hobos.

"Pssh!" was Holly's only reply.

"Please, Holly!" he folded a pair of hairy arms over his chest at Holly's eye level. It was at moments like these she loathed being the towering pillar of four foot nine that she was. "This is the third time this week! These people are not blah, blah, blah, grumble, grumble!"

After a while it all just turned to noise in Holly's ears. She practiced looking past Frederick without having to lean to pass the time. Every now and then behind him the doors leading to the stuffy dining room would swing open once more. Holly paid little attention to the empty or full bowls her fellow volunteers transported through those portals. She preferred to watch the ever shifting images of the aging television hanging in the far corner. If the doors swung wide enough she could just make out what channel whoever's picky fingers skipped over next. Food Network, Disney, MTV, NBC, CBS.

It stopped. The doors swung shut.

"You are a grown woman, making such childish remarks is—"

Open fly the doors again, and this time somebody had turned up the volume. A newscaster reported: "…just received word that Metro News One of New York has just overcome a terrifying hostage situation…"

Doors closed. Holly hissed.

"Why do you even _come _here?"

Open: "The villain known only as 'Dr. Horrible'…"

Close.

"Holly? Holly, are you even _listening_ to me?"

"...images may not be suitable for younger audiences," this time she heard it before seeing the gates reopen. Holly could feel her jaw hanging on its hinges when her eyes finally caught sight of the ghastly images on screen. Reynolds turned his attention to the TV—as did every other body in the shelter at that moment.

Holly cringed as she watched the clips of police crashing into the studio for a heroic rescue. She gasped after seeing Dr. Horrible be gunned down by the enthusiastic swat team. His white coat was instantly spattered with blood, the weapon he was holding clattered to the floor—though that was barely noticeable over the gunshots—and someone inside the shelter gasped even louder than Holly.

The blonde woman immediately cursed herself for not being by that gasper's side already. The sound of breaking dishes echoed in the next room.

"Sweet Lucy in the sky with diamonds! McCartney?!" she called out, pushing Frederick aside and dashing through the kitchen doors before they had a chance to shut. She found the copper haired girl standing frozen at the dining room's center, pile of spaghetti and chips of ceramic at her feet.

"Honey…" Holly approached her carefully, then suddenly realized that this near statue of a girl was trembling from head to toe, "Sweetheart? Are you alright?" she gently placed on hand on the girl's quaking shoulder, "Sweetie your nose is bleeding!"

"B-B-B-" the shaky girl stuttered. Holly wished she had a handkerchief.

"Honey, maybe you should sit down…"

"Billy?!" the copper haired girl rasped. A shudder coursed through her pale body before green eyes rolled back into their sockets and she fainted.


	3. Filth and Lies

Chapter 2: Filth and Lies

Three Weeks, Four Days, Two Hours Post Incident.

Moist senselessly wiped the perspiration from his brow. He'd forgotten to wear a sweatband to keep his excessive sogginess from blurring up his eyes; not that digging through six feet of dirt in near pitch black is challenging enough. He wanted to get out of there, ASAP. This was a cemetery. He was trespassing. He was _grave digging _for Pete's sake! There were many things Moist was not opposed to when it came to living a life of crime. Stealing candy from babies, tripping old ladies, the occasional pick-pocketing—but _grave robbing?_ Once was enough, thank you, and even that was just…evil.

And to top it off his natural wetness was beginning to turn the ground muddy.

Moist groaned. This was going to take forever and it might not even be worth it! Sure, he _wanted _to trust the Doc, but Moist didn't exactly think he was in the rightest state of mind upon planning all this. Neither of them knew for sure if this was going to work. Well, that's not true. _Moist _doubted that this plan would work—as any sane person should. The Doc trusted it wholeheartedly.

_"Doc, listen to me. You don't even know if it's going to work!" Moist pleaded with his old friend. How long had it been since they lost saw one another? Five, six years, and the first thing the Doctor wanted to do after his old sidekick's plane landed was return to his lab to discuss the 'plan'. _

"_Don't touch that," Dr Horrible mumbled as he caught Moist tinkering with beaker filled with a strange smelling, gooey liquid. The latter withdrew his damp hand immediately, but couldn't help dip his nose closer to the murky substance below. The scent assaulted his nostrils mercilessly. Was that cumin?_

_The Doc flattened an aged sheet of paper—scribbled with equations and formulas—over an empty workbench. "These are the basic plans from…_before_," he spoke more to himself than to his assistant._

"_Before?" Moist repeated, fully aware of the meaning behind the simple word. _

"_I just need to make a few adjustments, rewrite the steps for you to understand, maybe laminate it…" the blond man went on without hearing his friend._

"_Doc," Moist gently patted the Doctor's shoulder. His head snapped up—arm twitching from the shock of human contact—and looked Moist in the eye for the first time since leaving La Guardia. "_Before_, the first time, it was a failure," he was trying to be as tender as possible. He was starting to wonder just how far off the deep end the Doc had jumped _this _time, "You said so yourself."_

_Dr. Horrible shrugged away Moist's hand—though not before a watermark could be left in its wake. His blue eyes shied downward, watching the shuffling of his own feet. They blinked uncontrollably._

"_I'm sorry, Doc," Moist apologized, "I didn't mean to bring up—"_

_"Yeeaaahhh," the Doctor inhaled deep, something in his drawn out tone reminded Moist of the aspiring villain he once knew. The corner of his lip curved up slightly as he ground his teeth together. It wasn't a smile, more like a thinking grimace. Doc's eyes were no longer glued to the floor, but now roaming the ceiling in hopes to find his next choice of words floating above, "I may have…I wasn't…that's not…that's not exactly the _whole_ truth."_

_"Whadda you mean?"_

_Again that nervous, crooked, grin of a grimace crossed his face. His mouth opened—but then froze—the words still hadn't come to him. He closed his lips and swallowed before reattempting speech, "It…wasn't…" Dr. Horrible struggled painfully to hiss out his one sentence, "It wasn't a failure."_

He lied. His best friend, the Doctor, had lied to him six years ago. The experiment wasn't a failure. She was alive…again. Those gross weeks of work weren't for nothing. Dr. Horrible had succeeded. He defied the laws of life and death. Penny was alive. But he lied. That ticked Moist. He was Dr. Horrible's loyal sidekick, his best friend! How could he not have trusted Moist to keep that a secret?

_"What?! Are you serious?! Where is she?!" Moist had plenty questions that needed answering on the subject of his friend's dishonesty, but _that_ was the first significant one to pop out of his mouth._

Doc explained though. It was for Moist's own protection. (It still got Moist peeved) but it was for her, for _everybody's _own protection if the League assumed Dr. Horrible's most audacious project had been a hopeless wreck. It was bad enough that their little secret had been discovered by Bad Horse and the others. Bad Horse doesn't like it when his underlings keep secrets. So off Doc went; sent far away to the opposite coast forbidden to ever contact the henchman that aided this unauthorized scientific venture ever again. Ever. Moist knew they had both gotten off easy (although he was expelled from the official Henchmen's Union). He wasn't sure how his buddy had done it, why Bad Horse even bothered to reason and spare them a fate worse than death, or what the League did with Doc afterward. When Moist answered the phone a few weeks ago he had been happy enough just to know the Doctor was still alive.

_The Doctor's shoulders sagged, his eyes found the floor again, "I don't know," he said softly._

Now not so much; alive that is, or happy.

Moist's shovel collided with something firm and very wood sounding.

_This better work_, he thought. The Doc had showed him Bad Horse's 'Ultimate Plan'. Even an exiled henchman agreed it was a bit much.

He really did hope it worked. For the good of everything.

* * *

Yes I know, another short chapter, boo hoo. Just bare with me.


	4. Some Kind of Harmony

Chapter 3: Some Kind of Harmony 

Three Weeks, Five Days, Eighteen Hours Post Incident

"She's gone guys…" the whimpering moan of Marshall Erikson across the booth was the only thing that made Ted Mosby unplug his tongue from Robin Scherbatsky's mouth. Ted groaned, and he could feel the exhale of breath against his chin from Robin's sigh, "she's really gone…"

"Marshall," Ted suddenly felt guilty. Marshall had been having the worst past few weeks of his life. He was sad and mopey and barely wore pants anymore, let alone leave the apartment. He'd been that way ever since he discovered Lily's secret application—and acceptance—into that stupid art program in California…and she left. The perfect couple broke up because one of them needed to "find herself", to figure out who she was away from Marshall. It broke his heart.

Meanwhile Ted had been having a few of the greatest days in his existence! He was with Robin. Finally, finally, he was with Robin. And as of five minutes ago he was making out _with_ Robin. He felt bad about making Marshall watch that—especially since it was Ted who forced Marshall to throw on a pair of jeans and get his ass off the couch in the first place. He couldn't help it. Robin's eyes were just so blue…

"Ahem, Marshall," Ted began again before distraction could over take him, "You've got to forget about her!

"You're free, you should be celebrating! You got that red-headed tumor removed."

Ted froze. "Did you say something?"

Robin returned the question with a quizzical look, "me? No."

The architect shuddered. No, he hadn't thought the voice belonged to Robin for a minute. Ted didn't tell the others yet, nor did he really plan to, but he had been sort of…_hearing _things for a few weeks now. Well, not things. "Things" makes it sound a little too vague. What Ted had been hearing was Barney.

Ted missed his friend. Early on he would often imagine Barney sitting at the booth when he really wasn't there. He would hear Barney make a comment that was never really said. It was Ted's way of coping. The video he found (that he also had yet to inform the group about) was what finally convinced Ted that Barney really might be gone. Oh, and a super villain. Ted still had his doubts. Of course they weren't so much doubts as they were hopes, but that somehow had morphed into the same thing in Ted's brain. Pretending Barney was there, happy and hanging with the gang, was how Ted was coping with the…incident. It was easier to pretend the pervert was still around rather than fully except he'd never be around again.

Although lately it seemed Ted's imagination had taken on a mind of its own. Two days ago he accidently burst into uncontrollable fit of laughter during one of Marshall's pity parties. He found himself thinking of what Barney would do if he happened to be sitting at the table. Ted pictured a bored Barney hanging himself with an invisible rope, and then that to Ted wondering how Barney would react to his and Robin's new relationship. Similar patterns emerged. He saw Barney committing faux hari kari, complete with invisible samurai sword and sword effects. It was very convincing, and Ted simply couldn't control himself.

Robin elbowed him. "Ted," she hissed, shaking her head. Clearly whatever Marshall had just lamented wasn't remotely funny (or at least that's what Ted and Robin were supposed to pretend) however, Ted had been chuckling again.

"S-sorry," he cleared his throat, "I was just thinking…"

He looked at Robin, with her worried blue eyes. She was so devastated after the incident. She was there. She saw it all happen. Ted was who she looked to as a shoulder to cry on. He helped her through the grief and liked think the pair were rewarded for their suffering when they found love at last. She didn't deserve to have that pain resurface.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

* * *

WHAAATTT? I'm alive? I updated? It's been months! Where have I been? I was so worried! I thought I'd never return to this project!

Yeah, I know, I'm awful. You must hate me. Title me the worst updated ever, but look, Penny Lane isn't dead! (pun?). Sorry I temporarily abandoned you all. for a while I thought it was going to be permanent, but every time I checked my inbox I'd actually see new notifications from readers like you showing my stories some love and I couldn't stay away forever, I just couldn't!

As for where have been all summer and fall? Long story short (er, maybe medium length): Life is hard. Life has this nasty habit of getting in the way of everything too. My life and the people surrounding it have been through some pretty yucky stuff in that past few months and I think the monstrous dust cloud hovering over the Midwest is finally settled.

Also, I during my FF. net hiatus I had the must epic life changing revelation: I'm going to write shit for a living! I finally decided what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, I'm applying to art school, and I'm setting my sights for the department of Writing for Film and Television (I cannot remember the name of the reviewer who left it but one of you once joked that I must be Joss Whedon in disguise and that my friend I will never forget. Must excellent compliment ever!) Meanwhile! I've actually started an original novel in alignment with NaNoWriMo. It's shaping up to be waaayyy beyond 50K words and it will possess the majority of my attention, but I will try to update some more, I promise! (like that transition? Haha).

I should end this now, before I give you my memoirs. The moral of this story? Uhhh please forgive Eccentrikpyrate, she's trying to balance her life and her future and the internet, is apparently horrible at it!


	5. Love was Fairytale&Trouble was Made Only

Chapter 4: Love was Fairytale and Trouble was Made Only 

Someone was laughing. It wasn't a cheerful sound like laughter should be. It was evil and deranged and possessed such a triumphant tone.

She was lying on something cool. The room that held her whizzed and buzzed and beeped such strange noises. They hurt her ears. She moaned. It was the only noise her throat could manage. She tried to move but her limbs were just too heavy. Her body, however, shivered involuntarily because of the continuing laughter.

Her head ached. Her whole body ached. Everything felt so _stiff. _Her lungs stung every time she took a breath. She was so cold too. A warm hand took a tight hold of her wrist. "I fixed you…" a voice whispered. She recognized it.

_Billy? Billy, is…is that you? _Penny wanted to yell but she made no sound. Why? Why was everything so difficult? She could hardly even think. What had happened? How did she get here? Where was _here? _What was making all of those awful mechanical noises?

Penny tried desperately to recall something, anything, preferably the last thing she could. She was at the ceremony, the one for the homeless shelter. Captain Hammer was there. He was making a speech, a _terrible _one. Penny was embarrassed. She wanted to leave. She tried to sneak out but something happened. Captain Hammer was frozen. He was frozen because…because…Dr. Horrible was there.

Penny whimpered. The hand clasping her wrist squeezed tighter, but the last thing she wanted was to be touched.

Dr. Horrible had a gun and it fired or exploded or something and she…she got hit. She remembered getting hit, and Dr. Horrible he was…he looked so familiar. But then Billy was there! Billy Buddy was scared of something; she could clearly see his face in her mind. He was terrified. She wanted to protect him. She was cold. Her body felt numb. Penny wanted Captain Hammer to save her Billy Buddy from the villain in the room. She doesn't remember anything else. Oh God, what happened? What happened to Billy? She needed to see him.

Penny wanted to open her eyes, she _tried _to open her eyes but they weren't working.

"Penny?" Billy whispered, "Penny? Can you hear me?"

Her eyes shot open. The room was blurry. Objects were spinning. It was so hard to focus. Black and gray machines towered over her, dancing the way things dance when you can't really see them properly. Things were sparking. Little lights on the machines glowed an array of colors. Tubes and wires surrounded her. One was close. Penny lifted her arm, slightly, and she felt the needle under her skin tug the nearest tube. It was attached to her. They were all attached to her. She wanted scream. Her whole body shook with fear. What was this place?!

"Penny, calm down," Billy sounded so hurt.

He pressed another hot hand to her arm—she was freezing—but she swatted it away. Penny's vision finally focused. It wasn't Billy's arm. It was Dr. Horrible's. He was there. He was standing over her alongside the ugly machines in his red lab coat and frightening, inhuman, goggles hiding his eyes.

He retreated, his back slamming against one of his tall machines. It trembled.

"Penny? Please, it's me, it's Billy!"

The doctor spoke with Billy's voice, causing Penny's mind to be assaulted with a memory she wished she could forget: _No sign of Penny, good I would give anything not to have her see, _Dr. Horrible sang at the ceremony, _it's gonna be bloody, head up Billy Buddy—_

Billy Buddy. Her heart broke. _That _was her Billy Buddy? Dr. Horrible? But…_why? _Billy and she were friends. Why would he do something like that? He would never ruin Penny's ceremony. He knew how much it meant to her, and Billy would never _ever _kill somebody! No! That couldn't have been Billy. Dr. Horrible's weapon had been what hurt her. Billy would not do that. Billy was _not _Dr. Horrible!

The evil scientist lifted the goggles from his face. Behind them were a set of the saddest blue eyes Penny had ever seen, and she knew them well.

"Billy?" she was sobbing. Hot tears streamed down pale cheeks.

Billy turned his gaze form her in shame.

"No," she muttered, "no, no, no!"

Penny tried to lift herself off the table but she wasn't strong enough. The tubes and needle connecting them to her pinched her skin. She noticed for the first time the only thing covering her was a thing white sheet. She lifted it an inch. She was naked underneath. Wounds, some already scars, decorated her chest and abdomen. Stitches held her skin together in many places. Some of the cuts looked _surgical _(Penny had had her appendix removed when she was fifteen, she knew what such scars looked like). One, right on her chest, right over the spot children place their hands while saying the pledge of allegiance, was jagged, red, rough looking. Penny shivered again, remembering the shrapnel that had pierced her. How badly had she been hurt? Had she—did she—

"Billy," her voice cracked, "what have you _done?_"

* * *

Three Weeks, Five Days, Twenty Hours Post Incident

"Penny? _Penny!" _

Penny jolted upright. She had been having a bad dream, _again. _She didn't quite remember what it was about now that she was awake, but she could take one very accurate guess. Penny had been having the same nightmare for years. Its ability to terrify her never ceased. She hated that.

"Honey, you alright?" Holly gently asked.

"Mm hmm," Penny rubbed the sleep dust from her eyes. She had to blink several times before the waking world became clear to her.

Penny had fallen asleep in front of the computer. Its rubber ducky screen saver bounced happily within the walls of the monitor. She looked down at the keyboard. A small puddle of drool was slathered over the J, U, I, K, and L keys. Penny scratched her cheek; she felt the small indents the keyboard had made there. She sighed. Penny had almost gotten used to waking up in places she didn't remember falling asleep in.

"I made you some tea."

Penny looked up at (well, she looked more _eye _level) at her pint sized roommate. Holly smiled warmly, a steaming mug in one hand.

She tried to return the smile, "thanks."

Reaching for the mug Penny's elbow jostled the mouse. The bouncing rubber ducky disappeared, replaced by a still from Dr. Horrible's latest blog. The frozen image portrayed the villain mid laughter. Penny had watched the video so many times in the past few weeks she was sure she could recite the doctor's monologue word for word by now. Her cheeks grew hot as she blushed. Holly had always been understanding but Penny hadn't really wanted her to see that.

"Still mourning your celebrity crush?" the blond huffed. She grabbed a coaster and set the mug on the desk, then proceeded to check her watch.

"No!" Penny hastily closed the window, "it's not like that. I—"

Penny had never told Holly the whole truth about her past. She was always thankful that the woman had never asked. Holly knew nothing of Penny's encounters with Dr. Horrible or Captain Hammer or Penny's …_death_. She had mentioned a little about Billy, mostly on days when the scent of fabric softener was strong in the air, but never enough.

Holly was observant, however, and caught on to Penny's avid following of Dr. Horrible's blog as quickly as Penny had herself (the video entitled "My Birthday" had a tendency to pull at the heartstrings the most). That was what Holly had boiled it down to, though: a celebrity crush. Penny never had the guts to say that watching those blogs was the only way she even had a chance of understanding the boy she used to call her friend.

_"I don't know how to make you understand!" Billy shouted. He ran a frustrated hand through his blond hair. He looked as though he hadn't slept it days. His lack of sleep was her fault too, she knew it. Billy had been searching for her. The graveyard was probably the last place he thought to check. _

_"No! I don't want you to **make** me do anything," Penny was crying. She hadn't meant to start crying, but she _was _standing at the foot of her own grave. All she wanted was to see it. She wanted to see the place where Billy had dragged her dead body out of the ground before he had turned the clock back on her life. "That's all you want, to **make** the world a better place, to **make **people do what you tell them, to **force **the world into submission of your imaginary utopia!"_

_ Billy had tried in vain to explain his reasons for choosing a life crime and supervillainry to Penny. She just didn't get it. He had done it all for her. Why couldn't she see that? _

_ "What made you possibly think that being evil would change the world for good? That doesn't even make sense! You can't succeed like this, you won't!" she screamed, kicking at her headstone. Chunks of earth that had not quite settled after her resurrection splattered the ugly gray rock. _

_"Well your way wasn't doing much better, Penny!"_

_Billy cursed himself. He had lost control for a moment. It wasn't his intention to yell at her like that. He was just so aggravated. Why couldn't she appreciate the magnitude of what he had done for her?! _

_"You don't think I know that?" Penny shuddered as a fresh winter breeze blew past, "you don't think I want the world to change as much as you do? I'm realistic. I don't treat my life's dream like a comic book," Billy flinched, "The only thing you're going to accomplish if you keep this up is hurting yourself and the ones you love!"_

_"I already did that," he muttered, almost low enough for Penny not to hear._

_His words froze her more than the coldest winter ever could. Did he just confess that he was in _love _with her? Oh no. Oh, she couldn't handle that. Not right now. That look in his eyes, that sad yet hopeful look in those eyes that refused to look at her, only confirmed it. It brought back all those butterflies Penny once forced herself not to harbor for her Billy Buddy. _

_"N-no," she stammered, "No, Billy, no, no, no, don't say that! If—if you loved me then you would have known that I would _never _have wanted you to be evil. You wouldn't have tried to kill Captain Hammer."_

_His eyes rolled, Billy growled, "You hate me."_

_Penny shook her head, "I don't want to hate you, Bill Buddy."_

_"Right, well," Billy removed his plush sweatshirt, still avoiding Penny's gaze. He tried so hard to keep his voice emotionless, or even spiteful, if some emotion had to get mixed in there, "it's just as well then. I can't see you anymore."_

_She hugged herself. Penny's heart—having formerly been lodged in her throat— plummeted to the very pit of her stomach. _

_"W-what do you mean?"_

_"Trust me, it's for your own protection that I—" he swallowed, "I never see you again. If Bad Horse—"_

_"The Thoroughbred of **Sin**?!" Penny cried out, "You work for the Thoroughbred of Sin? Billy, please don't choose Bad Horse over me!"_

_Her words stung him. He squirmed like a bee had been crawling up his shirt. Billy shook the feeling as quick as he could. He moved forward, feeling the tiniest bit lucky when Penny didn't take a step back. He swung his sweatshirt around, draping it carefully over her cold shoulders. _

_ "It's going to kill you, this job," she spoke directly into his eyes; "If you don't stop I swear it is."_

_Billy ground his teeth. This closeness was too much to bear. For once, for one measly moment in his life surrounding Penny he opted for bravery. His hands, still clasping her quivering shoulders, squeezed so tightly. He leaned closer to her. Penny's cheeks were suddenly blazing. She could see his aim anticipated the impact by closing her eyes. Maybe she puckered a little too, but she'd never admit it._

_Billy lightly kissed the tip of her reddened nose, slid a hand under her chin where he paused for only a moment before letting her go completely. _

_"Then it's better if you're not around to see that happen."_

Holly placed a hand on Penny's shoulder. It was obvious the younger girl was struggling to form the words that would explain her interest in the late Dr. Horrible. "Ringo," Holly loved using pet-names for Penny, "you need some sleep. Some _real _sleep," she clarified, eyeing the misused keyboard/pillow.

Penny nodded. Holly wasn't pressing the issue. That was another she had to be thankful for.

A tissue was suddenly shoved up one of Penny's nostrils. She winced.

"Your nose is bleeding again," Holly plucked more tissues from the box on the windowsill, "you really need to get some good rest."

Penny held the disposable cloth to her nose. The occasional nosebleeds weren't abnormal, not since she had _woken up. _They were becoming more frequent though, since Billy's very public execution. The thought of it caused Penny's heart to skip a beat. That fight was the last time she had ever spoken to Billy. She never got to apologize, she never got to tell him she found his blogs, she never got to tell him she knew his intentions were good and most of all she never got to say goodbye.

_"It's going to kill you…"_

She hated being right.

Penny could feel the usual tears welling up on her eyes. She no longer had the energy to fight them back. Holly wrapped an arm over her shoulders, dabbing a tissue against her freckled cheek.

"It's okay," she whispered, sneaking a peak at her watch, "it'll be okay, Penny. You'll get through this. I promise you."

* * *

Dear Dr. Horrible fans. I highly recommend you all listen to the rock opera Broken Bride by the band Ludo. I've gotten a lot of ideas for Penny Lane from that album (it's my favorite CD of my favorite band). Trust me. It's good. Check 'em out, you won't regret it.


	6. Life of Crime, Got Your Mail

Chapter 5:Life of Crime, Got Your Mail

Four Weeks, Twenty Hours Post Incident

Moist was running out of ice. The refrigerated truck was a rental too. It was due back in Albany, ohhh, _yesterday. _Preserving a dead body was a lot harder than Moist remembered. At least the Doc had been embalmed—Moist involuntarily gagged. That was gross. True and most certainly helpful in the department of, how did the bad doctor put it?

_"Don't let me rot for more than __**month**_**!" **_he warned, "I don't have the time to prepare enough regenerated tissue to replace any higher levels of decomposition than that."_

It freaked Moist out how easily the Doc could speak of such morbid stuff like that. Then again, that was how he spoke in the whole, did it end up being over a year? that the pair worked to bring back Penny. The Doc was actually worse than. He was more despondent, obsessive and _maddened _and Moist swears the man developed a Red Bull addiction from all the long nights he spent barely awake in his lab. He could still picture Doc hunched over his work station, scribbling equations Moist had no chance of understanding on any bits of scrap paper that could be found. He clearly remembered the days upon days Moist wouldn't see him because the Doc would be just _building _things. Moist was never any help at building things, for obvious reasons. He was recruited to be used as Dr. Horrible's currier. Doc didn't get out much—cough, cough, _at all—_in those days so it was Moist's job to retrieve a daily grocery list of much needed supplies. Sometimes even real groceries were on the list. Okay, those were added by Moist. The Doc would have starved if his faithful henchman hadn't kept track of his diet.

The most disturbing memories of all were the times Moist caught the Doc checking on her when he thought the henchman had already left for the night. He kept her in a tank. He never did explain to Moist exactly what that tank was filled with, but it was a material of the doctor's own design. Doc said it was special, designed specifically to be compatible with Penny's DNA. It made Penny get better, sort of. No amount of that goo could make her heart start beating again, but it did keep her from disintegrating into nothing and it did keep what parts of her weren't already ruined preserved. She was there, in the ELE funded basement lab, for such a long time. In the evening, as Moist was leaving, Doc would place his hand on the glass and just stare at her, expressionless. Moist never pretended to think Dr. Horrible didn't keep working after he left. Every morning Moist would arrive again to find some different piece of Penny all shiny and new with new set of stitches and a new "grocery list" to go along with it.

Doc performed all the surgeries himself. Before those days Moist had only thought the Doc earned PhD's in psychics and engineering and chemistry and stuff like that. He was wrong. Doc dropped out of med school when he was eighteen (early acceptance when he was fifteen). He switched his career path to the chemistry and psychics and engineering then, though never admitted whether or not he actually graduated from any of those programs either (something about a short attention span). He did admit one thing. William Stinson was a certified, fully qualified and unemployed molecular geneticist capable of making cats glow in the dark if he wanted to by the time he reached his twenty sixth birthday. Damn, did Doc put those skills to good use back then?

Moist found himself chuckling for the first time in weeks. _Wow,_ he thought, because looking back on it he was astounded that the League hadn't discovered what they were up to sooner. Water dripped from his greasy hair as he shook his head in amusement. He guessed anything could be funny if one was sleep deprived enough.

"Can I help you?" the skinny blonde behind the counter asked.

Moist coughed, embarrassed. He attempted to swipe a piece of oily black hair form his eyes but his dampness only made it stick to his forehead like superglue. "I—uhh—umm," he stammered, "Ice! I need ice. Do you know where there's a place nearby I can get some?"

The teenage girl raised a brow, "every unit is climate controlled, Mr. Howser."

Moist had been spending a lot of time at the Gray Castle Self-Storage facility upstate lately. The Doc said it wasn't a perfect work space, but it was out of the way of the city and would do fine for their purpose. Moist's name at the Castle was for all intents and purposes Douglas Howser.

"Yeah, I know," he sighed, "but they're not controlled cold enough for what I need—"

"What do you have that needs to be kept on ice?"

Some bags of some important things that several Red Cross organizations will be very displeased to find missing.

"_If you don't wait any longer than a month the only thing you should need is blood," the Doc told him as he locked the storage unit, "the soup should take care of the rest."_

"_Is that what you're calling it now?"_

"_Y-yes?" Doc swallowed._

_Moist shrugged, "Okay."_

"_I'll, uh," Doc adjusted his tie. He wasn't dressed like the Doc Moist remembered. He was wearing a suit, an expansive one too. Moist made a point of not getting too close; those things are dry clean only. "I'll need to be submerged," his voice shook slightly. It was the only sign of fear he gave, "for at least four, maybe five, days. Cloning is a cinch. I've already started to duplicate the necessary cells to stimulate my body's natural immune system and healing process. I'll create enough for a plasma base—err, the soup—and then it's just matter of those super-cells to find and replace the dead ones. Decomposing will cease, some complete regeneration may take place but I doubt it. It'll be mostly partial. Even with the super-cells working at 150%--" he crossed his fingers and murmured, " —and accepting the necessary donor blood—any specimen would need that extra" he pounded his fists together, "Jolt! To get the heart pumping again."_

_The faintest of grins ghosted over Doc's mouth. It was a grin of pride. The scientist hadn't produced such meaningful work in years. Moist stared in awe, realizing how much he missed it when his friend talked science he didn't comprehend. _

_Doc's smile faltered and vanished as quickly as it came, "…what?"_

"_Wow, it's just, you've really thought about this."_

_Doc rubbed his forehead and exhaled, "Chh, Yeah, well, it was a lot harder the first time around. No living DNA to work with. I had to recreate it using a deceased sample."_

"_Does it ever bother you?"_

_Crap. Moist was kicking himself. He wanted to clamp a sweaty hand over his mouth to keep from asking anymore out of line questions, because it was out of line. Moist was talking about Penny. Both men knew it. Moist was wondering if it ever bothered the doctor to talk about Penny, and now himself, as a science project. Ugh, what a dumb thing to ask. He knew Doc hated being questioned like that. Last time Moist tried it countless beaker's paid the price. _

"_Yeah," Doc sighed, his shoulder's sagging a little. The spark that had so briefly reignited his eyes was extinguished, replaced by their usual sad expression. There was something more in them though, was understanding, acceptance? Hope?_

_Doc patted Moist on the shoulder, "More than you'll ever know." _

The Gray Castle Self-Storage facility employee blew bubbles with her chewing gum as she quickly wrote the directions to the nearest convenience store. Moist wished he could ask her to laminate it, but he figured that was a step too far. Besides, he was on a tight schedule. The Doc's advised grace period was almost up. He only had a few days left to prepare for the "jolt" before some serious damage would occur. Although, what could be more serious than death?

Performing a resurrection without the proper amount of time to prepare? Yeah, possibly.

The ELE conducting an investigation into Dr. Horrible's apparent suicide? Oh yeah, definitely.

* * *

Professor Normal had torn Stinson's apartment to pieces. Correction, he had what henchman remained tear what little furniture remained in Stinson's apartment to pieces. The Professor would never perform such a tedious task himself even if his mechanic joints _had _been oiled properly.

Normal sighed. His breath made a strange, whizzing noise.

He hated the fact that Bad Horse had left _him _in charge of the official Evil League of Evil investigation into the death of one Dr. Horrible, alias Barney Stinson. The two never did see goggle to goggle. What did that twerp have against robotic armies anyway?

It didn't matter, the facts Professor Normal had uncovered so far were these: it was Dr. Horrible who betrayed the League to HAG (as proven by the confession that had been emailed to Fake Thomas Jefferson), Dr. Horrible went through great lengths to assist the League in covering up his own existence (from which Professor Normal deduced that not only was Dr. Horrible planning to be erased but he also had much to hide from his employers) and Dr. Horrible was given a copy (perhaps the only copy) of some the key points of Bad Horse's Ultimate Plan.

The League did not know why Dr. Horrible decided so suddenly that _now _would be the time to betray, although Normal had a theory involving spinelessness and Marshall Erikson. The League also did not know what it was the Doctor was hiding that would require him to erase his existence before the League could, nor did they know why Dr. Horrible chose death as his only means of escape. Not that the latter wasn't true of course. He could have tried to run, but his life would have ended shortly and violently after his treason no matter what. Most important and infuriatingly: the plans that Horrible had been given had yet to be recovered.

Professor Normal scratched one of his bionic sideburns. It was so pointless to be searching Stinson's apartment a _fifth _time. The plans weren't here, nothing of importance was. This means Bad Horse will be displeased. When Bad Horse is displeased the _world _is displeased.

"Damnit!" Normal shouted, punching his two-thirds robotic arm through a wall, "where did you _hide them!?"_

* * *

He remembered being asleep before the intercom buzzed. Now he was groggy and irritated that someone actually had the nerve to tear him away from a warm bed and sleeping girlfriend at 5:52 in the morning. Although no matter how loudly he groaned at the intercom it would not cease to buzz until he answered it. Throwing dirty socks at it didn't help either.

"What?" he yawned, finger barely pressing the button hard enough.

"Special delivery for a Mr. Ted Mosby," a chipper voice replied.

Ted moaned, "From who?"

"Uuhh," the voice replied, "a Mr. Barney Stinson."


	7. Update 2012

Update 2012: EccentrikPirate has retired from fanfiction. It's an official statement now. This account has remained untouched for years...and I apologize to anyone awaiting updates to any of my fics, but unfortunately I can't say they'll ever come. Fanfiction was super fun and I found it to be a fantastic way to practice and develop skills as a writer, but I've moved on now, and probably couldn't pick up where I left off here even if I tried. I still, and always will, appreciate the massive amounts of support given to me by those of you who read, reviewed and are still reading my fiction. Thanks.

If anyone out there is interested in reading some original material, I am new to tumblr: flashwriter. tumblr .com

I post flash-fiction there, so come take a peek. Peace out everybody. It was fun.

EccentrikPirate


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